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impossible.” She released one of her long-suffering sighs. “But you must rejoice that Reggie is settled at last – and to a girl of impeccable breeding. Now we must see to your future.”
    “There is no need. If Reggie is truly settled, then the succession is assured.” Not that he believed for a moment that Reggie was serious. But arguing with her was not in his own interest. “You must be pleased with your success. Now you can return to the Close.”
    “How absurd! Reggie cannot shoulder the entire responsibility for the future. What if something happened to him? You know how I feel about your cousin. Allowing the marquessate to fall into the hands of a fribble is intolerable.”
    “Then you should do everything in your power to keep it out of my hands, for my reputation is exactly the same.”
    “That may be true – though I cannot understand why you insist on prancing about like a silly nodcock; it can only court disdain – but you are nothing like your cousin. We both know you are reasonably intelligent, so direct that intelligence to the future. You must wed, Sedgewick. I believe the Washburn girl would suit you quite well.”
    “Do you?” he drawled. “I cannot imagine why.”
    “She is lovely.”
    “And hasn’t two thoughts to rub together.”
    “Then what about Miss Avery? She can conduct an intelligent conversation.”
    “Perhaps I should consider her. She has sworn to die a spinster, but she might be willing to accept her own establishment and a sizable allowance if I vowed to leave her alone.”
    “You jest.”
    “Not at all. She has turned down two dozen offers already, including a duke and two earls. Her brother has given up on her. She must be all of four-and-twenty.”
    “So was Elizabeth, but that did not prevent Symington from wedding her.”
    “Leave it, Mother. I have no interest in Miss Avery or anyone else.”
    “Only because you refuse to consider them. What objection could you have to Miss Heathmark?”
    “I cannot distinguish her from my horse.”
    Lady Glendale pinched her mouth into a disapproving line. “That was unkind, Sedgewick.”
    “This entire subject is unkind. I will not wed until I find a lady I can live with in comfort. No amount of pressure will speed the process.”
    “Nonsense. You are merely stubborn, having become so accustomed to opposing my wishes that you no longer look about you. But if you require beauty, then consider Miss Mason.”
    “She giggles.”
    “Miss Cunningham is more sober.”
    “With eight older siblings who relegated her to silence, she never learned to converse.”
    “Lady Edith Harwood?”
    “Irrevocably selfish.”
    “Lady Constance Bowlin?”
    “Are you so desperate that you would accept someone smarter than you?” He snapped his mouth closed at her shudder, furious that irritation had loosened his tongue. She was determined to retain her power and position after her husband died – a looming event, for the man’s health was rapidly failing – which explained why she sponsored only the most conformable misses. But she believed her schemes remained secret.
    “Miss Delaney?”
    “When did you decide that Irish stock might suit? Perhaps I should consider her. I would derive great pleasure from watching you swallow your pride long enough to welcome her into the family.”
    “You are correct. She would never do.”
    “But not because she is Irish,” he said, raising his quizzing glass. “She will not do because she displays no sense and less style. Now enough of this. I will eventually wed, but in my own time and for my own pleasure.”
    “Very well.” The agreement was meaningless, as they both knew. She would never abandon her campaign. “In the meantime, I am holding a dinner party next week and will expect you to attend.”
    He caught a flash of cunning in her eye. So this was not the usual confrontation after all. Elizabeth had feared that she would take matters into her own hands. Was she actually willing to